The Rose From Helstone
by Lady Gisborne 15
Summary: Margaret is filled with utter disgust when she first meets Mr. Thornton. His brooding stance and her head-strong willfulness continue to clash as they continually bicker and fight. But when Margaret is reunited with her first love Frederick, will she already have given her heart to another?
1. Chapter 1: Anger Broods Anew

**ATTENTION: Please read all of this through, it contains important information!**

_**Halo, friends! So this might be pretty confusing to understand so listen carefully. The original **__**Rose From Helstone**__** has been discontinued due to lack of a story plot on my behalf and very little interest to update. Truth of the matter is I was not happy with it at all! Thus, this is the new **__**Rose From Helstone**__** and I hope it is better than you thought the other one was. **_

_** Also, I have postponed the writing of **__**All Over Again**__**, the sequel to **__**Strange Love**__**, until further notice because I believe it is too soon after the original story to write a sequel and I never really took the time to develop the plot in my head. I have also discovered that I am not much of a multitasking writer, though I think I deserve some credit. I am writing this story, a collaboration story, and currently beta-reading two different stories.**_

_** Anyways, I am sorry if this caused any confusion or even inconvenience. But I am the writer and I feel that this is the way to go.**_

_** Disclaimer: I own nothing, except this incredibly twisted plot!**_

_** Also, I have done something very different with this story. I have created a trailer for this story that can be found on YouTube. It's pretty interesting if I say so myself. Check it out at this link: **_

_** watch?v=sHk7FtGiDmA**_

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Margaret was hastily ushered into what appeared to be a dank and dismal office. It's features were sharp, but strangely clean and everything was put properly away. The man beside her urged her, not unkindly, to stay where she was as he went to get the man he called 'Master', the man who obviously ran Marlborough Mills. She nodded in silent agreement and took her stance by the window, flattening her large skirt and primly laying her hands in her lap.

Ten minutes came and passed as she patiently waited for the arrival of the man she had so heatedly wanted to speak with. How dare he speak such rumors of her to his men! Spreading lies about her father that she had so startedly heard behind a solid door! And those words to be spoken by nobody else but poor landlords, lorded over by this said Mr. Thornton. How it had made her blood curdle this very morning! She insisted that she be taken to see him immediately and that was how she had come upon the mill, in all its gloomy reality.

The mill had not quite been what she had expected. In the South of England, in Helstone, it was a quiet place. There were few mills since the North shipped their cotton to them, and who on earth would wear cotton these days anyway? What mills there were, were far nicer and much more modern than this place. A place so smoky and ashen that it made her very skin crawl with the feeling of filthiness.

She looked back up at the clock to see that it had indeed been twenty-five minutes since she had been escorted into this room. She humphed in impatience and sidled over to the door. _Well, if nobody is going to bring this Mr. Thornton to me, then I shall just have to go to him, _she thought, her temper rising to near boiling point. She took a breath to steady herself as her hand clutched at the handle and turned it slowly. Blinking her eyes, she took one step out and walked through a short narrow hall that led to another door.

She heard a loud clanging and banging from behind it and she cautiously opened it. One step into the room told her that she had found her way into the very part of the factory that produced the cotton. The very sight of the fluffy white of the cotton flying through the air made her smile at its beauty. _Just like snow, _she mused before observing the people working the mills. She was appalled to see the women and children working beside the men, and further more, she noticed that they looked exhausted, pale and sickly. The South would have never allowed for women to behave so improperly! Her mind thundered at the sight.

It increased her head-strong will to find this Mr. Thornton. But how on earth would she possibly know who he was? Well, he will surely be in a suit. Knowing him, he would probably be brutishly ugly, an old and cranky miser who cared naught but to finger his expensive watch upon its gold chain and to mock the hard effort of his workers. Her eyebrows knit together and she sought harder to find this man that she grew more and more to detest with every second.

And then her eyes caught sight of something, someone rather, black and tall, with a head held high, and his eyes shone with pride. Her eyes glistened the sight of gold upon his waistcoat which his hands fingered gingerly as he looked upon his workers with sharp eyes. _At least, I wasn't completely wrong about the watch, _she thought bitterly as her eyes observed the man who stood above his workers. She observed the angelic curve of his lips, the high cheekbones, the icy blue eyes. Those eyes in one look showed pride but also a hint of sadness and something else, perhaps hidden exhaustion?

Her thoughts upon his appearance were soon interrupted as she saw the man before her shout angrily at one of his workers before dashing down the stairs in a quick rush. "Stephens!" He dashed after the dirtied and sweating man who was running from his master in everything that appeared to be fear and worry. The two disappeared behind the stone wall and Margaret nervously trailed behind, hastily desiring to see the outcome of the brawl that was assuredly about to take place. She prayed to God that the Mr. Thornton, who she already secretly, or not so secretly, despised would show mercy, and unknowingly earn back some of his good-will in her eyes.

This was not to be so as she appeared from behind the wall to watch in horror as she saw this harsh master beating the whimpering man.

Mr. Thornton thundered loudly, "Stephens! How many times have I told you not to bring a smoked pipe into this factory?! Burn down this whole mill, you could!" He kicked the sniveling man in the gut. Margaret wanted to scream for Mr. Thornton to stop but her voice would not rise to her throat.

Her heart leapt as she heard the mill worker plead in fright, "Please, sir, I meant no harm. Just needed to have me a little smoke, honest."

"You could've endangered the life of everyone in this mill!" The Master thundered back. He took the man by the shoulders and stood him upright only to lay a well-calculated and strong punch to the gut. The man fell back just as Margaret found her voice and rushed to Mr. Thornton.

"Stop! Please!" She shouted before she had even thought. Mr. Thornton seemed surprised to hear the voice of a woman behind him, furthermore a voice that spoke with authority and had commanded him to stop. However, he slowly lowered his clenched fist and instead laid a final kick to the man's chest. The man whimpered and cowered against the wall.

"Get out of here!" Mr. Thornton shouted at the man before him, "I never want to see your dirty hide around my mills again!"

"Please, sir," the man pleaded once again in a last vain attempt, "I have young ones." His spoken words earned him another blow to his chest before Mr. Thornton strongly lifted him off of the ground and threw Stephens to the door of the mill.

"Get out!" He bellowed, "I never want to see your face in here again!" He stared menacingly as the cowering man scurried out of the factory.

Mr. Thornton spun around on his heel to be face in face with the supposed woman who had shouted at him with more authority than he had ever thought capable of a quiet and timid female. He stared at his superintendent who had come running breathlessly from around the corner.

"Get this woman out of here!" The superintendent trembled as he urgently tugged on Margaret's arm. Margaret cast a disgusted glare at Mr. Thornton before she was led out of the factory.

_** Well, I hope you loved it! I am so sorry that I have chosen to abandon the previous story but I promise that I will try to make this one even better. XD**_

_** Review please! And tell everyone about this story!**_

_** And remember that **__**All Over Again**__** has been postponed until further notice.**_


	2. Chapter 2: The Cemetery

_ **So here is another fast update because I love you guys so very much! And if you haven't watched the trailer that I made on Youtube, please please please watch it! It's really good if I say so myself. XD**_

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_"How dare he shout at me like I am cattle!" _Margaret's mind thundered as she walked along the dirtied street of Milton. She cast an angry glance at the factory before turning her attention to a small pathway that seemed to disappear through a cemetery. _"Well, at least the air seems cleaner over there."_ It had been a week since her ugly encounter at Marlborough Mills, and yet already her throat was beginning to itch and her nose wrinkle from the stench of sweat, smoke, and cotton from her brief walk.

She lifted her skirts daintily off of the ground as she walked along the beaten trail. She noticed that it must be tread along regularly, and she looked slightly surprised by the number of tombstones that lay on the top of that small hill covered in wilting grass. The smoke from the factory had made the stones dirty and hard to read.

_"The factory even desecrates people that are not in this world anymore," _Margaret thought as she was about to sit beside a grave; it was freshly dug, perhaps a week old. Her hands brushed away the ashen film to reveal crude letters carved.

_Tabitha Higgins_

_Loving Wife and Beloved Mother_

_Born 1845- Died 1869_

"So sad," Margaret muttered to herself as she discovered that this woman had died at only twenty-four. Margaret was twenty; that girl had been so young, almost as young as herself. "I wonder how she died?" She remembered the exhausted looks of the women and children within the factory, the laughter gone from their eyes and the smile from their lips. Their cheeks had been pale and their fingers shook with cold. Gaunt faces with beady black eyes stared at her through the darkness of her mind, bony cheekbones and ghostly complexions. She shook her head. It seemed everything in Milton traced back to those dreaded Marlborough Mills and even further back to Mr. Thornton. _Of course..._

She lifted her dust-ridden skirts from the ground and stood to her feet, proceeding down the path all the way back to her home. She stopped to stare at the large house before her that was neatly tucked into a quiet corner of the town. The street was busy with women in large bustles and men in dark suits. She had been quite excited when they had moved in only three days ago. The house had come fully furnished which had lightened the burden of moving considerably. She smiled softly as she thought of her mother. She and her father both hoped that her mother would quickly adjust to the new life in Milton. Her health was wavering and this strain seemed to weaken her even more. Being settled would surely help everyone to adjust to their lives. But why did it have to be in this filthy factory town in the North of England?

Margaret walked up the stone stairs of their home to the front door and slowly let it fall into the frontal room. It creaked loudly and she grinned at the sight of home. _Her _home. She turned to hang her coat upon the wall hook but she remembered that there had been no hook when they had moved in. "_I must nail one up." _Margaret thought as she wrapped her coat around her arm and unpinned her hat from her head.

She sidled over to the parlor door and opened it gently. She stopped when she heard her father's voice through the door along with a deep, gruff voice with a strange Northern accent. Her father caught the flash of movement and saw Margaret's face behind the door.

"Ah, Margaret come in." He motioned to his daughter who was blushing at being discovered to be ease-dropping. She opened the door further and smiled softly to her father. Her eyes then focused on the other gentlemen in the room. _Well, not a gentlemen, _she thought as her lip curled in disgust. For there, right in front of her, stood Mr. Thornton. She stood there silently, not even greeting Mr. Thornton. She gauged his reaction and noticed that he seemed surprised to see her too.

"Margaret," her father spoke, "This is my newest pupil, Mr. Thornton." Mr. Thornton did not let his eyes drop from hers until Mr. Hale addressed him. "Mr. Thornton is having a difficult time deciding between Aristotle and Plato. May I suggest we start with Plato and move on to Aristotle after that."

Instead of answering, Mr. Thornton turned to Margaret again, "I am afraid I and Miss Hale met under some unfortunate circumstances."

"I watched you beat a poor, innocent man." Margaret sneered, her face resuming its flush.

"Innocent?" His voice sounded like it was growing in irritation, "He was smoking a pipe in the mill and endangering the lives of all of my workers."

"He was just smoking a pipe!" Margaret retorted back.

"A couple months ago I witnessed a factory being burnt to the ground by a flaming pipe. It killed all in its path including the women and children. I will not have the lives of my employees put at risk like that!"

"You would say that a meager disobedience is worthy of a harsh beating?" Margaret looked on in anger.

Mr. Thornton shook his head and turned to Margaret's father, "I am sorry, Mr. Hale, but I fear I am not welcome here. I should go." He seemed reluctant to move to the door.

"Well," Mr. Hale interrupted nervously, "John, we will start with Plato next Tuesday, and then move onto Aristotle from there."

Mr. Thornton, well John, nodded his head. "Good day, Mr. Hale." He glanced at Margaret who was staring back with piercing daggers for eyes. He winced, "Goodbye, Miss Hale." He left and Mr. Hale turned to his daughter.

"Margaret?" He asked questioningly.

Margaret looked down at her feet, "I am sorry Father, but I must go wash. The streets are dirty."

** _So far, so good! Review please! XD_**


	3. Chapter 3: A Tarnished Pocket Watch

** _Well, these past two weeks I have been on a long vacation which is a great reprieve from the busyness of my fifteen year-old life. So, I have a treat for you: I am going to update the next two chapters today! That's right! I worked long and hard through my vacation just for you! I love you guys so much!_**

** _So, we've all definitely gotten a taste of Margaret's hatred for Mr. Thornton but how does John himself feel about this lively and spirited young woman? Well, I guess we will find out in this chapter. Richard Armitage (and John Thornton) fans are sure to get a treat this chapter! Yep, that's right. This is all about the personal opinions of the dashingly handsome John Thornton. I think I am going to enjoy this immensely. *cue devilish smirk*_**

_** Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing. How could I? North and South is just pure genius and, well, I am not. But I do own the very much revised and twisted plot that will come into play in later chapters. **_

****John Thornton, tall and stern, sat in his desk staring hard at a yellowed photograph that stood upon his desk. The corners were crisp and softened with age, the image itself was faded and worn, but the glass remained untarnished. John's eyes met the black beaded orbs of the man that was looking back at him through the framed picture. His hair was combed neatly back, his muscled form was clothed in a wealthy suit adorned with a silken crovet and in his arm was held a rather large top-hat. A notorious smirk was upon the man's lips and fierce determination upon his brow. John's eyes slowly descended to an apparent chain of gold that protruded from the man's pocket. A pocket watch. The pocket watch of his father.

John Thornton removed the very same watch from his own black coat and stared at the slow ticking of the hands. The glass was slightly chipped and the gold was black and tarnished upon the back but yet it moved with as much grace and sufficiency as he remembered it had as a boy. A smiling image crossed his mind of a young boy no older than seven sitting upon his father's lap and prying the man to let him see, feel, and hold the beloved watch. His father would then take it out and laugh at the boy's love of such a trifled thing, true it was expensive, but it was a pocket-watch and no more.

Such good times the pair had had...father and son always on their own adventures. John was scarcely thirteen when the mills his father so proudly owned began to fail. It appeared his father had lost everything in an investment. Dirt poor and having lost his pride, his father had become worn and depressed. The sparkle had left his eyes, the joy was no longer written in the single dimple upon his cheek. John had turned fourteen just a week before the news was brought that his father had committed suicide. Apparently hung himself, the policeman had said.

From then on, John's life was no longer filled with joy or laughter. There was no more time to waste, no more time to fool around. And so, John Thornton had grown up quicker than any child at his age should have to. But what else was he to do? He was the sole male in the family with a mother and a younger sister to care for. Determination swelled inside of him, the determination of his father. And he had quickly worked to learn all that he could about the art of business. Marlborough Mills was soon his to command at the tender age of fifteen. His mother, of course, was the one who made all of his decisions. The pride was still upon her brow, even though the disgrace of her husband's suicide was spoken abroad in the dirtied streets of Milton.

This pride had remained a steady glow as John had grown up into manhood, until he had been able to run the business for himself, and then he had begun to notice that slowly, day by day, the determination was leaving his mother's eyes. She was tired, he knew, and had born much. He would just have to work harder to ensure that her life was as comfortable and easy as she had tried to make it for him. And yet, he missed the look of pride in her eyes. It would appear, out of the blue really, every once in awhile. But the glow that seemed to assure him that everything would be alright was gone. He no longer could be assured by anyone else. He alone was the one whom he could ask for guidance.

He had not see that long-loved look of determination, the look that he had loved about his mother and father, that had graced their countenance, until only two weeks ago at the mill when he had recognized the very same look of determination in the angry gleam of a woman, a woman who had shouted at him to stop dealing out well-deserved discipline. He had been taken aback by the familiar glow within the woman's eyes for only a second. For there, hidden deep within the determination, was something else. Defiance? It had had to be defiance. Only a woman like her would dare defy him! Master of Marlborough Mills and wealthiest man in Milton. And then, he had met her once again only a week ago. What was the coincidence that his new tutor had fathered a daughter so sharp-witted that it was enough to make any man come down with a painful headache?!

John Thornton sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose to soothe his irritated thoughts. Margaret Hale had been a character. Sure, just ten minutes in a room with her had left him begging for a reproof and leaving hastily, forgetting all manners of etiquette. And yet something drew him back, something made him desire to continue to return to the Hale household. They had invited him to stay for dinner and then had even pushed him to stay longer and chatter with them in their spacious parlor. The wall-paper was peeling, but he noticed that the curtains were fairly new, freshly starched and ironed.

He had led on the conversation, talking of the only thing he knew how to talk of well- his business at Marlborough Mills. He had chanced a glance at Miss Hale and had become quite annoyed and embarrassed that he had bored her to sleep. She had commented that she had just been too tired to stay awake, she had had a trying day. What on earth could make a woman so tired that she abandon all the rules of English etiquette! She had gotten up to refill his teacup and he had watched her. Observing people was a tactic he had learned long before in the art of business. And it was in that moment that he saw something behind the disgusted curl of her lips and the defiance in her eyes. He saw genuine woman, genuine shyness and he could not explain the affect it had had upon himself.

This woman, this woman who was determined but defiant, disgusted by him but enjoyed the game of taunting. He did despise her, but then why did he feel somehow drawn to her? Was it her head-strong will? Her iron tongue? Her disgrace of all things proper? She surely did not allow herself to be subjected to English rules of elegance, rules that guided the way people even talked and walked. Even for a Southerner. She showed little if any concern for her reputation. And that seemed a dangerous thing. Yes, this sense of danger must be what drew himself to her.

_** I wish to make it VERY clear that when John is thinking about himself being drawn to her, this in no way means that he has already developed feelings for her. This is mainly to show that even though he despises Margaret, there is still something inside of her that makes him appreciate her.**_

_** Also, I've decided that the pocket-watch John Thornton carried around in the series had been his father's. I based this on an interview in which Richard Armitage said that he had created a story around the pocket-watch itself and had based much of John's connection with his father upon that watch. Man, oh man, do I wish I could touch that very same watch!**_

_** Now that that is clear, review please! Oh, and a lovely surprise for all of you readers! Yup, I've already updated again!**_


	4. Chapter 4: Nicholas Higgins

_**Well, well, well. Chapter four as promised. Hope you love it and please review!**_

_** ALSO! The trailer for this story was slightly revised and so the new address is :**_

_** watch?v=QFNc51O0lJw**_

_** Please Please Please watch it!**_

_** I own absolutely nothing, except for the idea.**_

__Margaret stared upon the small, frail girl and the plump man in front of her, observing them as best she could in the smoky haze from the factory. Even in the cleaner air of 'Cemetery Hill', as she had so fondly named it, she found that dirtiness still crept over her skin like a disease that could not be cleansed. Through the foggy haze of smoke and ash she saw the plain and homely faces. A nice pair, the nicest people she had met so far in this dank town of Milton and she smiled slightly at the pleasure of meeting two people who seemed interested in her for once.

She had recognized him from a certain day a week ago, right before she had barged in upon her father's meeting with the one Mr. Thornton. She grimaced inwardly as the memory came unbidden into her mind. It had been almost noon and she had heard an unfamiliar whistle ring clear through the quiet streets. Descending the cold stone stairs that led away from the mill, she had suddenly begun to be passed by tens upon tens of men and women. A hard lump of fear had settled in her throat once the men had begun to paw at her with their filthy and grimy fingers. One had even grabbed her purse. That's when this very same man had come to her rescue. He had defended her and returned her soiled purse. A look of pure amusement had been hidden in his eyes as she had offered him a silver coin for his trouble.

"No charge, Miss." He had said as he escorted her to a waiting carriage. _No charge, Miss. _The first shred of kindness that had been shown to her since coming to Milton was found within those simple brown eyes. The very same kindness that she saw now...though she found that this kindness was overpowered by weariness, evidenced by the dark circles under his eyes. Even still, faint amusement glistened in them as he looked upon the strange girl that he had first met upon the stairs of the mills and now again in a cemetery. _Good Lord. _

"You're not from this part of the world, are you?" He now asked her as she was pulled away from her thoughts.

"No," she smiled weakly, "I am from the South, from Hampshire."

"Hmm," the glint of merriness was back in his eyes, "That's beyond Milton, I reckon?" He asked in jest. His daughter took his offered arm as they walked along. Margret followed. She decided right then that she really did like these two kind-hearted people.

She caught her hat from blowing in the strong winds. Then, she dared to ask a question that she hoped wasn't too forward. "Where do you live?"

"We put up on Francis Street in Princeton, behind the Golden Dragon." Came the gruff reply. The man seemed to have gone back into his tired state of mind. Margaret seemed to notice a look of sadness that had fallen upon his countenance.

"And your names?" She asked curiously. "My name is Margaret Hale."

The man and his daughter suddenly seemed to become suspicious as they stopped to look at this strange woman, "My name is Nicholas Higgins and this is my daughter Bessie. Why do you ask?"

Margaret's mind instantly turned to the freshly dug grave and implanted tombstone. _Tabitha Higgins, _she remembered. She licked her lips before asking, "Were you in anyway related to Tabitha Higgins?"

A look of hurt crossed Nicholas' eyes and Bessie coughed slightly. "How would you be knowing that name?" He said in nothing but a faint whisper.

Margaret flushed and began to stutter, "Well, I recognized the name 'Higgins' on one of those tombstones," she pointed obscurely to the east, "And I was wondering if you had known her."

Nicholas nodded slowly, "Aye, I did know her." His face became grim and even sadder, "She was my wife."

Margaret became even more flushed, "Oh my, I am so sorry. I had not meant to pry-"

Nicholas's voice cut in, "No, it is fine, Miss Hale." He sniffled slightly, "She died in the fire over at Yorkshire Mill a couple months back in May. Three hundred were dead within twenty minutes, including 'er. So I got me and Bessie and my other daughter now. We stick together like a family."

Margaret's mind turned at the mention of the fire. That must have been the fire Thornton had so adamantly talked about! No wonder he had been so upset at Stevens! It had killed everything in its path mercilessly.

She watched as Bessie and Nicholas continued to walk solemnly down the beaten path. She decided to follow them and spoke once again, "The real reason I sought to learn your names was because I thought that I might come along and bring a basket." At their confused glances she hastily sought to explain. "Excuse me. At home, when my father was a clergyman, we would-"

"A basket?" Bessie had chuckled lightly, "Why on earth would we need a basket? We've little enough to put in it." Nicholas had regained some of the lost merriment in his eyes and had laughed along with his daughter.

Nicholas then began to explain, "See, I don't much like a stranger in my house. I am sure in the South a young lady such as yourself can welcome herself into another's home whenever she feels like it. But up here we wait to be asked before we come barging into someone's parlor." He turned to face an embarrassed Margaret. She kicked herself for not already learning the Northern ways.

"Excuse me," she said once again, "Mr. Higgins, Bessie...I didn't mean any offense."

"Of course I reckon you can come if you want," Nicholas put in before she could finish her apology, "But you'll not remember us. I bet on that." He turned to walk away with his daughter as Margaret stared on. Those words had stung hard. He surely did not give her enough credit. How could she forget the only two people who had been kind to her since her arrival to Milton? She had been gossiped about by a landlord, nearly trampled down by workers, and shouted at by a proud and ruthless master! How on earth could she forget Mr. Higgins and his kind Bessie?

She vowed to herself as she watched them walk away that she would not forget. She would call upon them as soon as possible and show as much kindness to them as they had her.

_**So this was more of a filler chapter but I hope you still liked it. I really forgot to establish Nicholas's and Margaret's relationship and so I decided to do that now because I think he is going to become a larger role than what he was in the series. And to tell you the truth, next to John Thornton, Nicholas Higgins was my favorite character! I don't know why but he was just fantastic!**_

_** Review please. :)**_


	5. Chapter 5: Of Love

_**Helloooooo! Sorry it's been so long but I've been super busy with the new school term and all that other stuff that you guys really don't care about. So I apologize that this is such a short chapter but I promise that the next one will be longer.**_

_** Oh, and I want to make it extremely clear, lest it get confusing, that in this story Margaret's Frederick is not her brother but in fact her lover from Helstone. Other than that, the storyline is the same with the mutiny and all that. So just so you guys know...she has no brother!**_

_** Also, the trailer on YouTube has been taken down due to some difficulties. Anyways... I will try to upload another better one, but we'll see.**_

"Why, Fred?" Margaret sobbed into her pillow late that night, "Why did you have to leave me?" Her tears dampened the cream-colored cloth beneath her as they also stained her rosy cheeks. Her eyes were red with crying as she could no longer take the wetness of her pillow and quickly got up, placing her silk robe around her shoulders and going to stare out the window. Anyone who would have looked upon her there would have thought she was an angel. Her pale, graceful features accentuated by the moonlight, her hair in long curls flowed down her back. But she did not feel like an angel; no she felt like anything but one of God's chosen.

Thoughts stormed through her head. _Why had Frederick left her? The man that she had loved so much. The man she would have been eternally happy with. Why had he left her when they could have stayed together forever? And why had he not returned to her, the woman he had professed to love? _Well, there was an easy enough answer to that question. He had sent a letter a couple years back of how the captain on their ship had been a horrid man, brutal and sinister. Frederick and the rest of the crew had stood up to him and set him adrift on the open seas. It had been ruled as a mutiny and Frederick had had to flee the country. But Margaret couldn't but wish selfishly that he would come back just once more to say a proper goodbye. She had not seen him for two years but it already felt like twenty. How she longed to hold his soft fingers in hers once again, to feel his hands travel through her long hair. She had never even kissed him. How she longed to have her lips claimed by a man whom she was adamant about being the first and only man she kissed. How she wanted him and only him to be her first kiss, and to seek these lips that she had kept for him and that had not know the touch of warmth, the static of electricity, from another man.

At this, Margaret's eyes began to fill with new tears and though she tried to stiffen the sobs so as not to wake her parents, she could not help but let one or two escape her lips as her fist banged angrily and with grief against the wall, as she fell back against it with no more strength left to give, as she allowed her whole body to sink to the ground below. She clasped and unclasped her hands before once again drying her eyes with her now soaked handkerchief. She had put up a brave front for the past three years. Never once did she complain of how she did not desire for Frederick to leave and go to the Navy. Never once after he had gone did she tell her mother how much she had missed him. She had never collapsed into any arms in hopeful seeking for comfort. And after it had been told to her that he would not be returning, that he could not return, she had not allowed a single tear to leak from her eyelids until she had been welcomed by the solitude of her room. And even after all this time of being separated from the man she loved, going through some days like she felt the weight of the world crashing upon her shoulders, the depression weighing down upon her very soul, she would not tell her family, she could not for fear of starting to cry and never being able to stop.

_Just like now..._

Margaret let another whimper escape her lips as she wrapped her arms around her knees and hugged them tightly. Her body slowly leaned to the side until she fell hard on the floor. It was cold and hard, but it matched her mood entirely. She lay there, curled in a ball for several minutes, no longer caring how loud she was or how often a moaning sob would escape her lips. And then through the constant ringing in her ears and the splitting headache her crying had given her, she could hear the distant creak of a door opening. Through the heavy film of tears in her eyes, she could make out the blurry flame of a candle and the short, burly figure of a man coming towards her.

"Margaret?" Her father asked questioningly, "What has happened?" His voice dripped with concern.

She longed to sit up and dry her tears, longed to show strength and set her lip in determination, but she found no strength to help her. She just lay there in a crumpled ball, the tears streaming down her face and her chest heaving as she whimpered. She saw her father crouch beside her and place the candle there on the floor. He then, somewhat awkwardly, placed his hand upon her head and began to stroke her soft hair. Margaret for a moment lost herself in their gentle touch, and for a split second deceived herself into thinking that they were Frederick's own fingers running against her scalp. She was awakened from the electrical sensation by her father's voice.

"Is this about Frederick, my dear?" His deep voice asked in a loving whisper. Margaret did nothing and said nothing, just continued to lie there on the floor, but her father knew. He lifted her gently with his arms. Margaret tried to dry her cheeks with her handkerchief but when she saw that it was soaked, she bitterly cast it aside. Her father took his own handkerchief from his pocket and passed it to her. She took it in silence and began to wipe the dampness of her tears with the cloth. Her eyes were now a deep red, her face a ghostly pale.

Mr. Hale looked at his daughter with grave concern and solemnity., "Ah, my brave daughter, you were wrong to keep back what you were feeling from us. How your mother and I could have helped you, if we had only know. I know you love him, but Frederick, he, well he is in great danger. I am sure that if he could come back, he wou-" but before he could finish she collapsed into his chest, the one place she sought to find comfort and she cried long and hard. Mr. Hale did not say anything, he just held her tight. He did not say anything more of Frederick or how he and her mother, when they were still at their beloved Helstone, had listened long into the nights to hear naught but their daughter's heartbroken and muffled wails, her distressed sobs. Mr. Hale stroked his daughter's back softly and sought to calm her down by whispering gently into her ear.

Over time it grew later and later into the night, till Mr. Hale her the church bells chime four, and he could see the first light of the day peeking through the still sleeping town of Milton. His daughter was quiet now and as he looked down at her, he realized she had fallen asleep. Her face was still cringed in pain. He took the crumpled handkerchief from her firm grasp and attempted to wipe the dried tears that were upon her face, but he could not. His eyes looked up as he heard a light knock on the door and saw Dixon walk in quietly. She seemed surprised to see both her master kneeling on the floor and her young mistress curled in a ball beside him.

"I just came to light the fire, sir," she said softly as she looked questioningly upon Margaret. She saw the tears dried upon the girl's cheeks and her eyes showed just a hint of affection, "You might 'ave told me she was crying, sir, and I would have comforted her, knowing how you need your rest, sir."

Mr. Hale shook his head as the servant walked over to the fire to light it, "No, that is quite all right, Dixon. Margaret never cries and sometimes I found myself fearing that she did not know how to. I have not held her like this since she was a small girl." He brushed back a loose brown lock that had fallen upon his daughter's still sleeping face. "But if you would not mind helping me lift her into the bed, I fear she has only just fallen asleep." And so Dixon, with a nod of her head, came over and helped Mr. Hale gently and carefully put Margaret back into her own bed.

Mr. Hale stroked her cheek with a sorrowful gaze as he muttered to Dixon, "Poor thing, what with him leaving her and all."

Dixon nodded as she went for the door, "I always did like Master Frederick, sir. 'Twould be nice if she could see him one more time."

"Yes, yes I suppose it would." Mr. Hale replied thoughtfully before looking up at Dixon, "But I am sure he cannot... with all the danger he still faces." And with that he walked to the open door and followed Dixon out, carefully closing it behind him to leave his daughter to sleep in what peace she had found.


	6. Chapter 6: The Letter She Sent

Margaret awoke the next morning to the melodic sounds of birds chirping in the shining morning. The crisp autumn air made her smile almost cheerily before it was overpowered by the acrid smell of smoke and ash; and she was awoken from her peaceful reverie. The happenings of the last three weeks flooded her mind and her senses as she was reminded of why she had moved away. Her grief over losing Fredrick had been too much for her or her parents to bear and so they had left Helstone, a place whose good memories had suddenly become festered with bad ones, seemingly overnight. They had come here seeking to find a better life, to forget all that had ever happened, but Margaret, try as she might, could not forget him or her life previous. It had been so happy and care-free and now her father had brought her and her mother here to live in a place of dust and grime, of harsh masters and poor workers. A place reminiscent, she thought, of hell itself.

Margaret peeled away the covers from her form and got out of the bed, stopping once to stretch her arms. She felt strangely sore that morning and then she remembered how she had laid there on the floor in the comforting arms of her father. She must have fallen asleep on the cold, hard, rough wood beneath her, but she had not cared. She had sought for anything that could give her even the remotest possibility of comfort and so she had fallen into her father's arms, hoping that he might able to lessen her burden. But he had not. For even that morning, she felt an invisible force weighing upon her shoulders and the familiar ache of her heart. She sighed and removed her robe.

Quickly dressing into the plainest outfit she had, which ironically enough was of a deep shade of indigo- Fredrick's favorite color on her- she then sat down at her vanity and began to brush the long, tangled strands of brown hair. She had forgotten to braid it last night. She grew angry at the various snarls in her hair and began to beat upon them more ferociously. It was only after she had succeeded in hurting herself by pulling to hard on her dark locks that she set the brush down in defeat and appraised herself in her mirror. Her eyes were still red from the crying and dried, crusted tears lay across her cheeks. She walked over to the washbasin and took a cloth, dampening it slightly and wiping away the remnants of last night's crying fit. Proceeding to sit back down at the vanity, she once again took up the brush and this time, more patiently, worked at the knots in her hair.

Her thoughts turned once again to last night. How had she allowed to show such weakness? She had to be strong, it was a necessity. Her mother was growing weaker and she feared her father could not bare it if he knew how sick his dear wife was. She had to put up a brave front for him, to show him that she was someone he could rely on. But how could she do that when Fredrick's memory was burned into her mind, day in and day out? But then again, his memory wasn't the only one etched into her very thinking. There was Mr. Thornton. The cold, dark, disagreeable-looking fellow whom she had only met a couple weeks previous. Her coming to Milton had not been an easy transition, but he had made it far worse. The last thing that she had needed was to constantly bicker and argue with a thick-headed, stubborn, harsh land master from the North. And he had been obstinate towards her, his dark eyes bored into her very countenance and nearly shattered it. How could one man have such an effect on her? Perhaps it was because she feared him, she feared his temper. But why should she? Lord knows she had a temper every bit equal, if not superior, to his. Then why did his piercing blue eyes constantly find their way into her thoughts?

More confused than when she had awoken, Margaret rolled her eyes and sighed again, delicately running her fingers across her wrinkled forehead. Some days she did believe the torment of her life was to much for her to bear. Fredrick had left her, the only man she had and ever could love. Almost as soon as she had lost him, Mr. Thornton had been thrust into this new life of hers and she did not know what to do with him. She found him repulsive, but also compelling, like a challenge she was ready to face. But why did she not feel ready now? _Fredrick._ How that name rolled off her tongue with such ease; well it used to, for as she said it now she choked on a sob and the name came out only half right.

Margaret's thoughts turned to something she had never thought of doing as possible. _Well, perhaps I could. Maybe just this once. Surely it could be done._ But the fear still raged within her. _What if he were to be caught?_ Her thoughts did not remain on this subject very long as she felt once again the stab of loneliness and want at her heart. Fully decided, she strode from her vanity to her writing desk and retrieved a piece of paper and a feather quill. She sat down once again and fiddled with the quill between her fingertips. She bit its end lightly before returning her gaze to the paper and she began to sprawl words across it.

_How must I put this?_She asked herself as she wrote of the recent happenings and of her desire to once again see him. The letter was short and quickly composed, forward and right to the point. She even surprised herself when she wrote, nearly begging him to return to her just once. She hesitated as she folded the piece of parchment. _Should I send this?_ Her thoughts turned to the night before and she thrust the letter into an envelope. _Well, we certainly cannot be having that happen again, now can we?_

She stood from her desk back to her vanity and then proceeded to quickly twist her hair into a neat bun a top her head. She threw a shawl around her shoulders and picked up the letter, quickly addressing it to the man whom she loved. She then quietly tiptoed down the stairs, careful not to wake the rest of her family. She placed it in the mail slot and knew that the mail carrier would be by that afternoon to collect the mail that the family wished to send out. She watched as the letter disappeared down the slot, both relieved and perplexed. _Have I done the right thing?_

_**So she wrote to Fredrick. This should get interesting. :D **_

_** Oh! And I am writing a new story for Guy and a sweet OC. You should really check it out. It's gonna be awesome!**_


	7. Chapter 7: Falling into a Trap

"Come, Miss Hale, let us part friends despite our differences." John Thornton held out his hand to her in a friendly gesture of friendship. He waited there for several seconds and then he saw her turn away from him, leaving him the cold stare of her back. He clenched his fist and lowered it to his side, taking quick intakes of breath so as to calm his rising ire. Instead, he gave a slight bow to Mrs. Hale and then turned to Mr. Hale. "Goodnight." his voice was grim, tight, and withdrawn. It even sounded to Margaret as if it held a hint of malice, of anger.

"Margaret," she heard her father say her name sharply once the man had left, "The handshake is a gesture commonly used up here in the North. I think you gave Mr. Thornton great offense by refusing to take his hand." Her father's face had gone red and his eyes flashed in mild irritation.

Margaret had not known. How could she have been so stupid? "I am sorry, father, that I have upset your friend." She sighed, "I am so sorry that I am so slow to learning Milton ways. But I am tired," she began to pace through the room, "I have spent all day starching and ironing curtains so that Mr. Thornton might feel at home. So forgive me if I did not understand the handshake."

Her father's expression softened as she continued, "Surely in the South a gentleman would never expect a lady to take his hand?"

"And I didn't know what to do when he started talking about his past," her mother added, "How his father was killed. Why, he must have died in the workhouse."

"I think it might have been much worse than that." Mr. Hale answered as he sat down in the nearest armchair. Mrs. Hale and Margaret did the same. "Mr. Thornton invested in quite a deal of money in speculation. When he lost, well, he-he killed himself. Mother and son and daughter lived on nothing for many years. John worked hard and long so that he might be able to repay all of their creditors long after it was said that it could never be done. So, perhaps he is not as blessed as you did think, Margaret?"

Margaret blinked and dropped her voice low, "No, father, I think him fine. Now, if you will excuse me, I will retire."

Margaret refuted herself all the way up the stairs. _How am I still so stupid that I offend my father's only friend in this God-forsaken place? And why, for goodness' sake, is my father's only friend such a cold man as Mr. Thornton? _Well, perhaps, he was not as harsh and sinister as she had originally thought. He had seen a lot, felt plenty of heartache, sorrow, and loneliness in his life. Perhaps he was not as prestigious or well-off as she had claimed him to be.

She remembered as she got into bed for the night his words that he had said to her and her alone. _Come now, Miss Hale, let us be friends despite our differences. _He had been willing to make amends, no matter how many times they had quarreled and taken offense at each other's words. And she had coldly turned her back at his words, refusing to acknowledge the prospect of them becoming friends. No, she much preferred him as an enemy. Or did she?

Why did she feel a stab of guilt every time she remembered the surpassing hurt in Mr. Thornton's voice? Why did she feel a pain in her chest every time she thought of how he had left without even saying a farewell to her? _Oh, please, this is silly. _Margaret mumbled in her half-sleeping mind. But that night she did dream of him, in all his dark yet regal glow. She dreamed of the first day she had met him, seen him rather, so stern and proud looking over his industry and his livelihood. Her heart quickened as she relived him beating that poor defenseless man out of the factory. Couldn't he have shown mercy to such a poor man? And to his lesser no doubt? And just like that her previous dislike for Mr. Thornton was reestablished, and he was an enemy once again.

OoooOOooOOooOO

They did not meet up with Mr. Thornton for many nights after, near about two weeks. Margaret had gone to visit her father at the great hall where he taught his lectures. She had seen him sitting on a bench outside of his classroom. He had motioned to the swarms of men hurrying to crowd into a small auditorium.

"The men asked if they could use the room for a meeting," her father explained as he stood up to leave with her. "Who am I to stand in the way of rhetorical argument?" He had smiled at her and Margaret had taken his arm and led him outside.

After several minutes of walking through the cold darkness of the fall evening, they heard muffled voices coming from the mill, a building which they always passed by on their walks from her father's lectures. They saw a tall shadow and a short, hunched-over man standing near the entrance to the mill. A ray of moonlight shot across the night sky and hit the smaller man's face. Margaret recognized him as Stevens, the man she had seen Mr. Thornton beating upon that first day. Stevens backed away in slight fear as she saw Mr. Thornton himself come into view, the moonbeam was radiating off his face, and for a moment she thought the foolish thought that he looked very similar to an angelic being.

He apparently heard them coming and asked authoritatively, "Who is there?" He saw there to only be Margaret and her father but Stevens continued to pester them and he felt his last nerve of patience give way. He pushed Stevens hard and shouted with all of his might, "Get outta here!"

He turned to the party of two who stood before him, looks of shock purely written on their faces. Even John held a slight snarl on his lip, he was no longer the angel.

"Surely, John," Mr. Hale began, "Some mercy is in order."

"Mr. Hale," Mr. Thornton's words were cold and harsh once again, "I will thank ye not to tell me how to run my business."

Margaret hated him for speaking to his father in such an awful way, "Remember," she retorted, softly to her father, but directing hidden malice towards Mr. Thornton, "They do things differently here." They had turned to walk away, leaving the angry master to look after them.

His features began to soften as he watched them, particularly Margaret walk down the street, her form was completely mesmerized by the shining moon. He remembered how she had looked only moments ago, her face radiated in this dim light, her eyes gleamed in fierce anger. And yet her cheeks had been so red, her eyelashes so full that she had seemed very beautiful to him. It had not been the first time he had noticed such a thing but he had many times told himself that he should never think such things, least wise about Margaret Hale. Her words had stung him, and he couldn't help but think if that was only because those words had come from her.

He turned away, clenching his fist as he hit the wall, sinew and muscle contracting and yet he felt no pain. He remembered his words to his mother the night he was to go to the Hale's for supper.

_"Dress? What need of you to dress? I would think these clothes are good enough for the Hales." Her mother had shown disapproval._

_ "Mr. Hale is a gentleman and his daughter is an accomplished young lady," he had responded. His mother had given him a curious and knowing glance but he had just smiled._

_ "Don't worry, mother. I am in no danger of Miss Hale. She would hardly consider me a catch."_

No, indeed she would not, he now thought. But was he still in no danger of her? If not, then why did he suddenly feel like he was being pulled into a trap? And why did he get the feeling that once in this trap, it would be nigh impossible to escape from her grasp?

_**Yay! We are finished with Episode 1 of **__**North and South**__**! Woot woot!**_


	8. Chapter 8: Spark of Electricity

_**Okeyyyyyyy. So the new trailer is up and is so much better! The previous one made no sense to what this story is actually going to be like. So this new trailer is perfect for this story and I think you guys will love it a lot! The link is:**_

_** watch?v=PJs84xg6yJY**_

_**Please watch it! I know you guys will love it lots!**_

Five days ago, all had seemed to stop, time had seemed to pause as everything went still and quiet. Margaret no longer heard the sound of the mill's clanging as she passed by it. She, of course, knew why the mill had ceased to function. All of the rumors that had been running rampant for the past week had been true. The strike had finally happened, all of the workers had left their posts that day and they were adamant about not working until their pay had been raised. Margaret could not help but feel sorry for them, poorer than they were before. And she would be lying if she said that she did not feel guilty in her rather well-off circumstances. The poor children and pregnant mothers, idle fathers who were pacing relentlessly through their one-room shanties. And so, Margaret had begun to take baskets to only a few of the homes. The man she had been introduced to as Boucher was one of those stops, and the Higgins as well.

Bessie Higgins had become her close friend and confidante in this strange northern town, but Margaret had to confess that she was slightly scared to visit her when Nicholas was in such a way as he was. He was an impatient man, having no work was beginning to work away at his brain. But it had been one week since everyone had left their work and his pacing would even put Margaret on edge.

But there was one thing, Margaret thought, that would surely help get her mind off of these matters. Surely the dinner party that the Thorntons were throwing would lighten her spirits. Of course, she couldn't help but wonder how they could give such a party when families were suffering. Or how they could spare the expense when they were not making any money either. But she pushed those thoughts from her mind. And she did feel this one part of her dreading to go, for it meant that she would have to see Mr. Thornton once again. She would probably have to speak with him, and hold conversation, even after what he had done to that poor man Stephens a couple weeks back. It would be the first time she would see him since then, and she wondered if she would be able to look past his harsh qualities. But amidst the dread, she felt something else, something she nearly called elation. Elation that she would see him once again? What a ridiculous thought! And yet, Margaret did pick out the nicest thing she had in her closet, a dress that everyone told her brought out the sparkle in her eye. Normally she would wear a her dark blue silk because it had been Fred's favorite, but now...now she went for the green taffeta. And she arranged her hair in a such a lovely set of curls and ringlets that even her father had been surprised.

Margaret gave her mother a quick kiss before her and Mr. Hale left. _Calm yourself, Margaret, it is just the Thorntons. Then why do I feel so sick to my stomach?_

OoooOOooOOooOO

Was that Mr. Thornton? Yes, yes, it was. Margaret could tell by the stern brow, but she noticed his features had softened considerably when he had laid eyes on her. She felt a faint blush creep up her skin to her cheeks. Wait! Was he coming over here? Oh, for goodness sake, it was _just_ Mr. Thornton. Then why did she feel her heart thumping hard against her chest? Very good question, good question indeed. She completely forgot that Fanny Thornton was talking to her, and she only heard the faint buzzing of the party going on around her. She became more self-conscious of the green taffeta she was wearing as she noticed much more finely-dressed ladies flowing to and fro in the room.

All she could focus on, for some strange reason, was his presence in the room. He caught her eye and came towards her, walking with a simplistic step. He made no airs and did not hold himself in proud dominance, as he had the first time she had laid eyes on him in the mill. He stood before her and it seemed she had forgotten how to breathe. She reprimanded herself with a kick to the leg as he bowed slightly to her. Before she knew what she was doing, Margaret had held out her hand to him and he had taken it with a gentle smile as he stared at her intensely, completely focused on her alone. And for a moment, a split moment, Margaret was lost in those blue eyes that did not seem so cold anymore. They seemed calm and warm, as if the ice had finally melted.

Margaret felt the softness of his palm as he held it tightly between his fingers. She struggled to find her voice and she forced herself to pull away from those blue eyes and concentrate on his whole face. It worked...partially.

"See, I am learning Milton ways, Mr. Thornton." She had wanted to apologize for her rudeness all those weeks ago at her home and he seemed to understand.

He only smiled more before replying, "I am sorry your mother was unable to join us." Her throat was once again dry and so she only bowed her head in thanks. He released her hand but not before his fingers had brushed across her own palm and down her fingertips. She thought that she felt a spark of electricity in her stomach. She was rapidly trying to conjure up more things to say but before she could do so a man came up behind Thornton.

"Thornton, I must speak with you," he said.

Mr. Thornton showed clear disappointment as he turned back to her. He sighed before saying, "Excuse me," walking past her.

Margaret could not explain why her eyes followed him wherever he was in the room. Even after Mr. Bell had swept her up in his own care, she still allowed herself one last chance to turn her head and look back at him, and his eyes met hers for not the last time that night.

_**Sorry it is so short, but I promise that I will try to make the next one longer! And if you haven't watched the new trailer, please do and tell me what you think! It will really help you to understand this story a bit more and help you to know where it is going 'cause right now I just feel like I am dawdling and not picking up any speed. I suppose I am just trying to establish John and Margaret's relationship before Frederick returns. And I have no idea what the next chapter is gonna be. But it should be up within the next two days...**_


	9. Chapter 9: When Patience is Weathered

_**Sorry, friends, for the long delay but on top of being busy last week, I suffered from serious writer's block. So, to deal with that, I wrote down the whole summary of this story and...wowww is all I can say! I had no clue it was going to be so long but I guess it will keep me busy for quite awhile. I hope it keeps you guys busy too!**_

_** I haven't had reviews for the past two weeks and to tell you the truth, it is kinda depressing. So if you could spare a review for yours truly, I would be most grateful!**_

__"But is the strike really so risky?" Margaret asked apprehensively to Nicholas who sat across from her. Bessie was knitting a small scarf off to her right. They nearly filled the whole space of the Higgins' home on this cold, damp, and rainy afternoon.

Nicholas sighed and hung his head before looking back up at her. His eyes looked tired as did his whole body, evidenced by the way his shoulders slouched. "Now, see, Miss Margaret, the strike ain't so risky as the problems that come after. If the people are not fed, then they are not kept passive. They get angry, you see, and they will do things rash. That be what I am afraid of right now."

"But surely you knew this before you agreed to the strike?" Margaret asked with a shaky chuckle.

Nicholas nodded, "Aye. We been putting our fair share into the Union for quite some time. The problem is that with so many families and more children than most are capable of providin' for, the money is runnin' out quickly, much quicker than any of us had accounted for." Nicholas reached across to Bessie and smiled weakly as he took her hand. He looked back at Margaret and his lips were set in a creased line.

Margaret could not believe that that was all there was to the strike. "Then that is it? What must you do now?"

"We will go on livin' as we did before, just usin' a bit less is all. But the men are getting restless-" Nicholas stood up, feeling a sudden bout of such restlessness, and began to slowly pace the room as he spoke, "It ain't easy for us to do nothing while are wives and children are dyin'."

"Then what must be done?" Margaret asked with a hint of disapproval as her eyes followed Nicholas.

"There is nothing to be done!" Nicholas nearly shouted at her as he let more of his anger come through than he had intended. He shook his head and frowned, "The men are growing tired of this waiting. It had already been a month when it should have only been two weeks we would have to hold out. There's been talk of Thornton bringing in Irishmen to work for him." Margaret's eyes flashed as she heard the name.

"Surely not." She argued, "Mr. Thornton would never send for other workers and have hundreds lose their jobs."

"Oh?" Nicholas mocked as he raised an eyebrow, "Do you believe to know him very well, Miss Margaret?"

The girl was at a loss for words and Nicholas left the subject alone, "Anyways, if those rumors are true the men will break, their patience is already weathered thin. It will snap and there will be consequences, mark my words."

"Can you not control them?"

Nicholas chuckled as if she was insane, "You cannot be serious, Margaret? I lead these workers but I cannot control hundreds of grown men! I have no control over them!"

"Well, what could they do?"

Nicholas gripped the back of a chair until his knuckles white, "I do not know. That-" he sighed, "Is what I am afraid." With that, Nicholas opened the door to their shanty and left.

Margaret watched as he left before turning to Bessie, "Where is he going?"

Bessie placed her knitting down and got up to stoke the fire, "Can't really be knowin'. Probably to the Golden Dragon. Normally he has a drink of somethin' to calm his nerves. Don't know when he'll be back. It scares me sometimes." Her eyes grew distant and then she refocused on Margaret's. "How he goes and drinks like that."

"It is difficult to see him so distressed," Margaret sighed.

"He ain't the only one, I'm afraid. Poor things, practically crying like babes-" She was cut short as she began her coughing fit. Margaret stood up from the chair, the wood screeching across the floor. She helped Bessie to sit down once again and then poured her a cup of water and gave it to her to drink.

Once Bessie's fit had subsided, Margaret stopped rubbing her shoulders. There was silence for several minutes before Margaret broke it. "Is it really all that bad, Bessie? Your sickness, I mean."

Bessie smiled weakly and her face had become noticeably more pale than before. She nodded, "It's the fluff in me lungs from the mill. You swallow it and it gets stuck in there and ye can't get it out. We cannot send for a doctor, and I don't think I will be livin' much over twenty-five."

Margaret frowned at the morbid thought, "Have you ever considered marriage, Bessie"

"I have," Bessie nodded as she stared at the fire, a look of warm contentment spread across her whole countenance. "I would have loved to be married, but I would have had to bear children. And I don't think that would have been possible for me." Bessie looked at her lap and said no more.

Margaret remained for several more minutes in silence before taking her leave and returning home.

_ A Day Later..._

A shriek was heard throughout all the rooms in the Thornton home. And that particular scream was from none other than Fanny Thornton. "They're coming! They're coming! They'll kill us all!" She felt the calming hand of her mother trying to relax her but she continued to hyperventilate.

John came bursting through the door, "Keep her here in the back of the house, Mother." His face was stern but filled with concern.

"How soon can the soldiers be here?" Hannah Thornton asked with anxiety hidden in her voice.

John did not reply and Mrs. Thornton once more tried to calm Fanny.

"Try to stop her panickin'." John said impatiently as another shriek nearly pierced his eardrums.

Hannah stopped for a moment and looked at him. "Miss Hale," was all she said before John had run out of the door and down to where Margaret was still standing, looking out of the window in curiosity of what could possibly be happening at such a time. She felt Mr. Thornton beside her and turned to look at him.

"I am sorry that you have called at such an unfortunate time, Miss Hale," he began, talking rather quickly. Just then, they saw the gate to the mill being slammed down and they saw a flood of men and women rushing through the opening, shouting angrily. They headed straight for the entrance to the mill.

As the two watched, Mr. Thornton gasped, "Oh my God, they're going for the mill door." It was true. The riot were on a firm quest to find and deal with the Irish, but they were also looking for their former master, now turned enemy.

"Oh no!" Margaret nearly shouted in surprise, "It's Boucher." Sure enough, Boucher and Stevens were in the very front, leading the mob.

John raised his head in defiance, "Let them yell. Keep up your courage just a little bit longer, Miss Hale."

Margaret turned to him in disbelief. "I am not afraid. Why can't you passify them?"

"The soldiers will make them see reason," Mr. Thornton replied grimly.

"Reason? What kind of reason?" She demanded but he did not answer. She instead continued, "Mr. Thornton go down there this instant and face them like a man. Speak to them as if they were human beings. They are driven mad with hunger, their children are starving. They don't know what they are doing. Go and save your innocent Irishmen."

John stared at her for a few seconds before turning away lest he be captured by those brown storming orbs. He took one last glance out the window before walking past her and down to the door of the Thornton home. Margaret watched as he went and, for the first time noticing the dangerous situation she had just put him in, listened anxiously as she heard the door open.

"Mr. Thornton, take care!" She called after him just as the door slammed shut. She looked down upon the scene and saw that while the mob continued to scream and yell, Mr. Thornton stood passively upon the stair, his arms crossed, and his eyebrows furrowed in stern apprehension. Margaret glanced once again at Boucher and saw him bend down. She saw him take a stone from the street and finger it in his hand. Fearing the worst, she forgot all propriety and all rational thinking as she ran down the stairs and out the door, confronting the riot head-on.

_**Major cliffhanger! But not really since all of you North and South fans probably know the upcoming scene by heart; after all, it is one of the best...**_

_** Review please!**_


	10. Chapter 10: His Scorching Gaze

_ Margaret glanced once again at Boucher and saw him bend down. She saw him take a stone from the street and finger it in his hand. Fearing the worst, she forgot all propriety and all rational thinking as she ran down the stairs and out the door, confronting the riot head-on..._

"In God's name, stop!" Margaret shouted at the crowd as they began to quiet, "Stop! Think of what you are doing; he is one man and you are many. Go home. The soldiers are coming. Go in peace." For a moment, she believed that she had convinced them to disperse but then one man shouted a question directed at Thornton.

"Will ye send the Irish home?"

Thornton's hands became fist as he shouted back, "Never!" Once again the crowd erupted in angry chorus.

Margaret felt her heart drop. What else was she to do? She remembered how Boucher had taken up that stone. She had no doubt that he would try to throw it hard at Mr. Thornton if the time arose. Fear bubbled up in her stomach and before she could think of anything else to say, Mr. Thornton took her by the arm.

"Go inside, Miss Hale, this is not your fight." He pleaded but she did not listen. Instead, he was surprised when she wrapped her arms around his neck as if to shield him from danger.

"No, they will not want to hurt a woman." She gripped him tighter as he worked to unwind her hands from his neck.

"Go inside," he ordered, "Or I will take you." But then, he felt Margaret's arms grow limp around his arms as she fell to the ground. He knelt down beside her and gasped as he saw the look of blood appearing at the base of her ear. John became angry at the sight of seeing her, a woman, laying on the ground unconscious because of these men, nay animals.

"Are you satisfied?!" He shouted in fury as he became emboldened, "You came here for me, so kill me if that's what you want!" Just then, the sound of a whistle could be heard and the thundering hooves of horses on cobblestone. Soldiers by the hundreds stormed through the entrance to the mill and assaulted the riot. They hit as many as they could with their clubs while the crowds tried to run away as fast as they could. They were soon out of the mill but John knew that it would take about an hour for the streets to be cleared.

He looked back down at Margaret and once again saw the growing stream of blood. Fear gripped at his heart as he lifted her up in his arms and carried her inside, laying her on the setee. He knew he must find a doctor. Right, a doctor. He stood up to fetch his mother to watch over the young woman but he could not but help chance one last glance at her laying there. His eyes traced the sharp eyebrows, the curled eyelashes, the lips that were set in peaceful slumber. And in that moment, he knew. He knew that for once and for all, his feelings for her had shifted. They had blossomed into something more beautiful than he could have ever dared hope. He loved her, loved her with all the admiration and feeling a man could hold for a woman. _His_ woman. _His_ precious Margaret.

He approached her slowly and silently, as if afraid that at any moment she would awake and this heavenly dream would crash like glass upon the floor. As time grew longer, he no longer could resist the overwhelming feeling of passion that was rising in his chest and he rushed to kneel beside her. He tentatively reached out a hand to grab hers. They were cold, but they were soft to the touch. He raised it up and kissed it gently. His gaze flickered to hers and he felt his head grow hazy as he found it difficult to breath. He had always know her to be beautiful, but how had he never noticed her angelic beauty?

Unable to control himself any longer, he brought his face to hers and then burrowed his nose into her sweet-smelling hair. He sighed as he laid a kiss to her head, to her ear, and then gingerly at the base of her injury. He pulled away and watched as she, in her unconscious sleep, curled her fingers around his. He stroked them thoughtfully as he wondered if he could say it aloud. Here, alone, when she was yet asleep.

He sighed shakily as he stared at her with a burning gaze. "I-" he inhaled through his nose, "I love you." He smiled as he felt the words fall from his lips, and some of this bent up tension disappear. He felt the courage to go on, "I love you more than anything else in the world. I did not realize this until now, until I had seen you in harm, until I thought that perhaps I would lose you. I will," he spoke haltingly as if promising to both her and him, "I will never let you leave me. I will never lose you."

As if to seal his words, he leant his forehead closer to hers and brought his lips closer to kiss her. But before he could, he heard the call of his mother and he hastily stood up.

"John? Are you in here?" She appeared in the doorway. "What has happened to Miss Hale?" She asked as she saw he girl passed out on the couch.

"I am afraid she has been injured, mother, by one of the rioters." He sighed, "I do not know what is to be done, but I must go and see how the soldiers' progress is going."

"Of course," his mother nodded, "I will see to her."

John walked to her and laid a kiss to her cheek, "Thank you, mother. I will not be long." And then he rushed out of the door.

_**I love this chapter! And I love John Thornton. Sighhhhhh**_


	11. Chapter 11: Love is Rejected

_**Sorry for the tremendously long wait! It has been so busy but now with things starting to slow down I'm hoping to be updating at least every other day, but having three stories to write along with two other stories to beta please give me some grace! Thank you!**_

__Mr. Thornton now stood at the window, fearing that she would be able to hear the anxious beating of his heart, and yet he was filled with anticipation at what he had to say. He heard the door open with a gentle creak and turned around to see none but this beautiful woman standing before him, surprise at his being in her home clearly written upon her face.

John walked up to her and closed the door behind her as she came in.

"Do you not notice the color of this fruit?" He asked Margaret.

"Yes, I wanted to thank you. My mother has not had fruit like this since we were in Helstone. It is impossible, I fear, to find such here."

By now, John had crossed to the other side of the room with his hands behind his back. "Miss, Hale," he addressed the woman before him. She looked well and he could see no sign of the occurrence of the day before, "I am afraid I was very ungrateful yesterday."

Margaret smiled somewhat smugly, "Grateful? You had nothing to be grateful for."

John further insisted, "I think that I do."

"Well, I did the least that anyone would have."

"That can't be true." She heard John say in confusion.

"Well, I was, after all, responsible for placing you in danger. I would have done the same for any man there," Margaret added, trying to explain herself.

John's eyebrows raised high up, "Any man?" John could not believe what he was hearing, "So you approve of their violence? You think I got what I deserve?" He was already desperately trying to control his temper.

"Oh no." Margaret shook her head, hoping not to have caused offense, "Of course not. But they were desperate. I know if you were talk with them-"

"I forgot," Mr. Thornton interrupted, "You imagine them to be your friends."

Margaret tried her best to continue her next thought, "But if you were to be reasonable."

"Me?" John could not believe his ears, "Are you saying that I am unreasonable?"

Margaret pursed her lips together as she thought how best to convey her thoughts. "If you were to talk with them, and not set the soldiers on them, I-I know-"

"They will get what they deserve," John interrupted her for the second time that day and his tone was harsh and condescending. John, noticing his tone and the dramatic change of the conversation, took a deep breath and tried to begin anew. "Miss Hale, I did not just come here to thank you. I came because-" For a moment he was lost by those big brown eyes that had taken a shade of innocence upon them. He shook himself inwardly and tried again. "I get very likely, I know I've never found myself in this position before. It's," he exhaled, "Difficult to find the words."

He looked back up at her and noticed that her eyes held a hint or recognition as if she had caught on to what he was trying to say. He changed tactics, "Miss Hale, my feelings for you are very strong and-"

But this time it was Margaret who interrupted, "Please stop. Ple-please don't go any further."

John Thornton couldn't believe what he was hearing and it took all of his strength to control his anger as he asked, "Excuse me?"

Margaret made her way to the window where she could see the light of the sunshine but could not feel its warmth. Oh, how she wished she could feel it! She looked back at Mr. Thornton, "Please do not continue in that way. It is not the way of a gentleman."

John was becoming angrier by the minute. How dare she interrupt him before he had even had a chance to explain himself! "I am well aware," he began to walk towards her, "That I am not a gentleman, but I think I deserve to know why you find me so offensive." The last word he said vehemently as he glared at her and waited for her response.

"It offends me," Margaret began, becoming just as angry at the man before her. How dare he think that he could ask for her hand in marriage! For surely, that was what he was going to ask before she had stopped him, stopped him just in time. "It offends me that you should speak to me as if it were your duty to rescue my reputation."

John Thornton denied it as he leant over the table separating them, "I spoke to you about my feelings because I love you. I had no thought for your reputation!"

Margaret once again smiled smugly, "You think that because you are rich and because my father is in reduced circumstances that you can have me for your possession." She chuckled mirthlessly, "Well, I suppose I should expect nothing else from someone in trade!"

John could not longer stand the distance between him as he felt compelled to shake her shoulders and, thus some sense into her. So, he went around the table and to her but he left her shoulders untouched. As he walked towards her, he spoke passionately, no longer caring about his nerves or her response. She had to know. "I don't want to possess you! I want to marry you because I love you."

Something about this close proximity threw Margaret's head for a loop. She could feel his slight breath upon her neck and if she looked up, she feared she would be lost in those clear blue eyes. She imagined they were storming. Something about this close proximity made her forget the subject of their argument, made her want to reconcile. Something about this proximity made her feel as if she was in uncharted waters and she loved the prospect of the danger...but not the regret. What would Frederick say if he knew these thoughts? No, she could not betray him and so she forced herself to remove farther to the window and turned her back to Mr. Thornton.

What had he just told her? Had he really told her he loved her? Margaret raised her head high. How dare he say such a blatant lie. Hadn't they always been enemies? Perhaps, she had been to busy despising him to realize the looks of affection, the soft smiles, the heartwarming words that he gave only to her. Regardless, what right had he to assume that she felt anything in the slightest for him? And she knew that she had to tell him.  
"Well, you should not," she began in an icy tone, void of any emotion, "Because I do not like you. And never have." Almost instantly, she felt regret at the hurtful tone she had used and almost instantly she knew that she had wounded him as she heard his quiet footsteps walk away from her and back around the safety of the table.

She heard his voice but hardly registered what he said as she felt the regret swarming to her throat, threatening to relieve her stomach of all that she had eaten for breakfast. She really did feel sick to her stomach.

She sighed and bowed her head. How could she seek to explain her anger? Her outburst? Her desire to hurt him? She knew that it was Frederick. It had to be, but she could not tell him that. Perhaps she was also on edge because of her friend. She was still exhausted from staying up late into the night with her, patting her back as the fever took hold on her.

"My friend, Bessie Higgins, is dying-" She began but he cut her short in an accusative tone.

"And that, of course, is my fault too." John knew that he was being a child, behaving in such a manner, but he could not find it in himself to care.

Margaret knew now that she really had hurt him. Poor thing. Perhaps he did really love her. She cringed as her mind replayed all of the awful things she had said to him, and the hateful tone she had used to say them. "I am sorry," she said as she started to apologize but Mr. Thornton would not let her finish and as she turned to face him, she saw a deep layer of spite glazing his eyes and his voice.

"For what?" he spit out, "That you find my feelings for you offensive? Or because I am in trade, you assume that I am only capable of thinking in terms of buying and selling? Or that I take pleasure in sending my employees to an early grave?!"

"No, no, of course not." Margaret tried to deny it but she knew that he was only repeating what she had so cruelly said to him. "I am sorry to be so blunt." She began to stutter, "I have not learned h-h-how to refuse, h-h-how to respond when a man talked to me as you just have."

John raised his eyebrows, "Oh, there are others. This happens to you every day," his tone was dripping with scornful sarcasm, "Of course. You must have to disappoint so many men who offer you their heart." He turned away from her and prepared to leave but Margaret stopped him once again.

"Please, Mr. Thornton, try to understand-" John could not take it anymore and turned to face her.

His tone was harsh and cold, "I do understand." He spit out at her, "I understand you completely." And with that he turned to leave and Margaret shuttered when the door slammed shut in front of her.

As soon as he had left, Margaret sighed. Pity, she had to hurt him so. She felt immense guilt in her stomach. She knew that she had not had to speak to him so, especially not when he was admitting his precious feelings to her. Now had not been the time to speak to him as she had countless other times, as if he was the enemy. She should have listened to him and then kindly refused him, rather than getting angry. But would she have been able to refuse?

Perhaps, Margaret feared, she would have not have been able to refuse. The love with which he had spoken, the passion with which he had stared at her, was far too dangerous. Perhaps, she had been afraid to hear him out because she would have accepted. Her feelings for Mr. Thornton had somewhat shifted as of yesterday. She did not love him, no, not at all. But she could feel something warmer bubbling into her heart when his name was mentioned. This-this- affection had been tried to be suppressed, but to no avail and Margaret now felt its presence in the full. It made her want to cry.

Would she really have been able to marry John? Something about him told her that it would not be entirely unpleasant. But no. She would not have been able to. Not when her heart belonged to another. It would be unfair to John and a betrayal to Frederick.

No, Mr. Thornton had to be refused. But she hoped Frederick would come soon so that all of these thoughts and feelings could be dissipated, so that she could convince herself that Mr. Thornton meant nothing to her and these 'affections' were misunderstood.

Margaret sighed and as she did so she caught the presence of something black on the table. It was one of Mr. Thornton's gloves. She took it in her fingers and felt the cool leather. Bringing it to her nose, she inhaled the smell of fresh air that always accompanied Mr. Thornton. Stopping herself, she lowered her hands and forced herself to think of Frederick. It was the only way she could forget about Mr. Thornton.

But why then did she bring the glove to her room and place it in the drawer of her writing desk?

_**Now we are officially finished with Episode 2. Thank goodness. I know it has all been rather slow-moving, especially since the last three chapters have been scenes from the movie. But within the next four chapters or so, things will be getting much more interesting. :)**_


	12. Chapter 12: Hopeless Comfort

_Despair. Grief. Depression. Anger. Disgust. _Like a tumult, these emotions raged through John's soul, ripping his very heart to shreds. His lips were set in a thin line, but his shoulders seemed to be sinking farther and farther. He looked ahead as he walked the busy streets of Milton. He passed the man he knew as Mr. Bell. Abandoning all etiquette, he did not acknowledge the presence of the old friend and continued walking.

Too late did John realize that he was indeed wandering with no apparent final stop. He did not wish to return to the mill, his mind was far too occupied for such an ordeal as work. But he did not want to endure the shame of going home with the news of having been rejected for the first, and probably only, time in his life. For he would surely never fall in love, much less propose marriage, ever again.

John sighed as he stopped before the square that his mill occupied. Where then would he go? His thoughts turned to a single place and he made his way to the one place which beckoned him. Above all else, he desired to go _there. _Perhaps he would find help and comfort at this place.

And so John Thornton made his way out of the busyness of Milton and began to walk up the hill to the cemetery. Was it just him, or did it seem even grimmer than he had remembered? Fog adorned the treaded path, the sky seemed to be a smokier haze than normal, and his mood soured even more. He made his way to a large oak off to the right of the path. And knelt before it, well, before a tombstone that lay underneath the canopy of that tree.

His hands traced the carved letters upon the stone as his nails worked to peel away the grime and moss that had begun to shroud it.

_Mr. John R. Thornton_

_Beloved by wife and children_

_Died April 6, 1853_

Sixteen years ago. Had it really been that long since his father had died? Had left his wife and two children to live in the world alone and unloved? Unprovided for? How the years had passed so quickly since John had been forced into a life of rush and quickly paced work. And yet, it felt like only yesterday since he had been given the news that his father had died by suicide. He still missed his father. The booming laugh, the sparkling eyes. Eyes which John had, no doubt, inherited.

John sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose as he felt the dampness upon his knees where he was kneeling. He had often come here afterward. With no man of the house, who else had he had to talk to? His mother was good for advice but she just could not understand. Sure, his father had never given an answer, but he was a good listener when John would talk to his tombstone which lie so peacefully underneath the growing oak. John had always somehow or another felt better after coming up here to talk to his father. Why should this time be any different?

"I know it's been a long time, father," John began as he let out a deep breath and settled more comfortably upon the grass, "But I have been so busy. The mill has become one of rank and status, a prominent business that many look up to. I am busy all the time." John smiled weakly, "It is difficult for me to find rest." His eyes stared forlornly at the stone before he sighed, "I guess the reason I am here today is because I have another problem. But it is not the mill again. The strike is over. Well, there was a mob that stormed our house but they were dispersed. And do you know who helped me? Miss Margaret Hale, father. You do remember how I spoke once of her to you. Well, there is so much that has happened, I do not really know where to begin." John rubbed his eyes with his hands as tears threatened to fall. "How could such a woman that I met and detested instantly turn out to be the one thing I cherished above all else, that I would willingly sacrifice everything I own all just to have. Mother does not compare, nor Fanny. The mill is as nothing when placed beside her. I don't know how o-or when I first knew that I loved her but it happened. I believe it was when she came down to save me from the mob. Only moments before, I had been disgusted, disgusted that she should shout at me to defend myself against a half-crazed riot, to stand alone against them with no weapon and no protection. But I listened to her. And then-" John sniffled and when he looked up his eyes were full of tears, "She came out. I did not know why at first and I was angered that she should take such a risk upon herself. I did not realize until after it happened that she had done so to protect me from danger. One of the men in the crowd had picked up a stone, a stone which was meant for me. But as I was trying to get her to go inside, she wrapped her arms around my neck and I realized how frail, how small she really was and I felt this great desire to protect her above all else. She was so close that had I not been arguing with her to go inside, I think I would have kissed her then and there. But it was not until she was hit hard by the stone that even my whole life flashed before my eyes and I realized that I would not be able to bear losing her, that she meant more to me than I had ever known."

John sighed and looked up at the sky. Still as smoky as ever. "So angry and afraid was I," he looked back up at the grave and noticed the remnants of wilted flowers in the green grass. He went to pick them up and toss them aside. "I was so afraid that I demanded that if the mob should kill anyone, it was me. The soldiers came that very second but it was only after she had been hurt, possibly life-threateningly, that I was given enough strength to actually speak to the riot. I carried her back inside and when I looked back upon her it was like an invisible force that drew me to her. All disgust and hatred for her had gone and I knew then that I loved her. How could I have hated such a woman?" John felt his heart tear at those words as he cried out in anguish and the tears began to flow in a rage down his cheeks, "I think—think that I always held admiration deep down for her. But how could I be so foolish as to reject it? To ignore it? And to fight with her as my enemy. In doing so, I pushed her farther away from me with each reproof and argument." John pointed at his chest, "It is m-my fault, father that I have lost something so very precious to me."

"I went to her today. Mother and I had both been so sure that her act yesterday of rushing out to save me was a declaration of her love. I was so sure. I proposed to her today, not more than a half hour ago. I walked into that room and I felt my heart leap into my throat." The man was becoming calmer as his tears stopped their flow and he dried them away. "I was so excited. Fear had been replaced by the very excitement of hearing her say that she would marry me. But what she said was, by far, unexpected." And the tears were back, "She still despises me, father, for she said it from her own mouth. That mouth which is so plump and rosy, which I have dreamed of feeling, in heavenly bliss, against my own. That mouth which would have been a blessing is far more of a curse than ever before! And I just do not know how to cope. I love her and she hates me! I want her for a wife and best friend, she thinks of me as her enemy. What am I to do? How can I see her without losing control of my mind? I think I will go mad."

John chuckled bitterly. "You know, father, I think I finally understand why you killed yourself. You could not bear the mass disappointment. I had always known that something had happened to make you hate life itself, but I had never understood how something so awful could even lead you to take your own life. Now, I understand fully. For, I think life would be too much for me to bear. It would be so easy to pull the trigger or brandish the steel. But I have Mother and Fanny and my workers. I cannot abandon them. And yet this hole shall never be filled, the hole that only a wife could fill. That only my Mar-...no...Margaret could fill." John bowed his head as he moved closer to the tombstone and laid a kiss upon it. "I have missed you. I could need your guidance now, and above else, your comfort. I love you...father." And with that John lay his head down upon the ground as his body was pressed over his father's grave, relishing in the lost feeling of hope, in the forgotten voice of his father. It was silent now, but effervescent. John could hear it...and only John.

XxxxXXxxXXxxXXx

Mr. Bell had arrived. He had come for a visit at the Hale's. And dare it be necessary to say that Margaret was far from being in her right frame of mind? Had not Mr. Thornton left only an hour previous after she had seen his own heart being broken by her hand? How was one supposed to forget that so very quickly?

Her thoughts were broken by her mother's voice. "How kind of Mr. Thornton." But what was she talking about? Margaret knew as her eyes met and glared at the bowl of ripe, deep red grapes sitting right across from her upon the table.

"The most splendid fruit I have ever seen." Mr. Bell chimed in affirmation. "Best in the county I shouldn't wonder."

"And a card," her mother added as she held up a note, "Written in his own hand. He has always been most civil and thoughtful. But I wouldn't have thought he would have had much time. He has had so much trouble with the rioting-" She was cut short as a coughing spell took over and Mr. Hale rushed to her side to calm her.

"He does this out of high regard for you, my dear." Mr. Hale spoke in a low voice.

Mrs. Hale calmed her throat and turned her attention upon her daughter, "Margaret, you must visit Marlborough Mills tomorrow and ask after Mrs. Thornton and thank Mr. Thornton for this most gracious gift."

Margaret tried to keep her voice calm as the prospect of seeing Mr. Thornton so soon after the rejection crawled into her mind, "I am sure a card would do just fine, mama." She protested but her voice was gentle. Her mind was raging, however, as she looked back down at the book she was reading.

Mr. Bell stared at her curiously before saying, "I saw Thornton in the street today. He didn't seem so...hmm... in control as usual."

"Really?" Mr. Hale asked.

Mr. Bell nodded, "He seemed very distracted this morning. I thought he might have been visiting you. He was just nearby."

Mr. Bell and Mr. Hale both turned to Margaret who had shifted, somewhat uncomfortably, in her seat.

"Margaret?" Mr. Hale asked his daughter.

She, however, responded with a faint 'excuse me' before she stood up, book in hand, and left the parlor.

Mr. Hale, accompanied by Mr. Bell walked to the doorway and watched silently as she walked upstairs. Once she had gone, Mr. Bell turned to Mr. Hale and said in a low voice, "Has it ever occurred to you that there may be something between Thornton and your daughter?"

"Oh good Lord, no!" Mr. Hale replied in surprise. "Certainly not. Well..." He said thoughtfully and Mr. Bell turned full attention to him, "I suppose its quite possible on his part, but for Margaret it is completely out of the question. She has never liked him, poor fellow. Oh, I pray he doesn't get his hopes up."

Little did they know, that Mr. Thornton already had gotten his hopes up and they had been ruthlessly shattered by the one innocent, charming Margaret Hale.


	13. Chapter 13: He is Finally Here

"Margaret, are you expecting a letter?" Her father had asked her curiously earlier that afternoon.

Margaret looked at Mr. Hale before lowering her eyes and answering with a quiet, "No. Well..." Should she really tell him that she had written to Frederick and a letter should have arrived any time now? Something in her- was it conscience?- told her that she needed to tell her father. But could she really worry him like that? She just would have to and she looked at her father with sheepish eyes and slowly nodded, "Well...yes." She finally said and her father's eyes grew even more curious.

She began to explain. "Father, I have something to tell you." She took a deep breath before continuing, "I have written to Frederick." Fearful that Mr. Hale would quickly rebuke her in his disappointment, she hurriedly tried to make amends, "I know that I shouldn't have-but, I-"

Mr. Hale nodded in understanding, "You felt you needed to see him one last time to say goodbye properly." Margaret nodded and Mr. Hale sighed.

"Well, I suppose it cannot be helped now whether he comes or not. Margaret, I am glad you did not tell me, for I fear I would have stopped you."

"Oh Father-" Margaret ran into Mr. Hale's arms and embraced him tightly. She whispered into his chest, "I am sorry that I kept it from you, but I was so fearful that I had made a foolish, and furthermore, selfish decision."

Mr. Hale stroked his daughter's head, "You did well, darling. You will never find peace if you do not say goodbye-properly this time." He pulled his daughter away and looked at her with a slight smile, "And perhaps it will not be goodbye. Perhaps you will go to Spain with him."

Margaret smiled too. "Perhaps." She replied simply. She had never thought of going to Spain? Now that she thought about it, did she really want to go?"

_The Following Night..._

Margaret, as she was just closing the door to her bedroom to prepare for sleep, heard the slight rapping of the door from the back of the pantry._ Now, who could that be, _she wondered, _Using such an indirect form of coming to the home? _For no one ever came to that door since it led to a dark, back-alley which was very quiet and never really inhabited.

She quickly buttoned the first two buttons that she had undone and grabbed the candle that was on the table by her bedside. She ran down the stairs to the door. Grasping the handle, she turned it quietly so as not to disturb her parents who were already in their beds. She opened the door only a few inches as she looked out into the dark alley. She barely made out a figure for the lack of light.

Margaret heard a gruff voice ask, "Is Mr. Hale home?" Her head swam. She would know that voice anywhere. How could she not?  
She took in a breath and held it as she whispered back, "Frederick?" She made out the pearly white of a smile and she grinned back. Opening the door all the way, she allowed the man to walk into the home and he removed his cap. Before she knew what was happening, she was swept into his arms in a tight embrace. She could barely believe it. She had long missed the feeling of his arms around her waist and his chin resting on her neck. She breathed the breath she had been holding in. Was he really here? Right there beside her? Holding her? So closely...

"You are well?" He whispered into her ear, not willing to let her go just yet. Margaret had all she could do to nod. Her head was in such a fuzzy state. Frederick pulled her away slightly, still grasping her waist tightly. "And your mother?"

"She is alive." Margaret managed to reply, "She is as ill as she could be but she lives. And Father-"

"You did expect me?" Frederick interrupted.

Margaret nodded, "I knew you would come, but we have had no letter." She just stared back at those big brown eyes she remembered getting lost in as a young girl.

"I traveled before it." Frederick explained. "But you knew I would come?"

"Of course," Margaret breathed before grinning widely as she stroked her hand over his cheek and under his chin, "But I didn't dare think it would be so soon!" Before she knew it, Frederick had swept her up in another tight embrace and they remained there for several seconds, before the pulled a part slightly at the sound of Mr. Hale's voice inquiring as to whom she was speaking to. When he finally came down the stairs and saw the lad before him, shock filled his eyes and was quickly overpowered by unexplainable joy. Tears came to his lids, and the ones that had formed in Frederick's eyes were beginning to fall as he released his grip on Margaret and went to hold the elderly man in his arms. The arms of a man who had been like his father.

"Oh, my son," Mr. Hale sobbed, "You have come home."

"I have, sir." Frederick replied with a youthful grin. "I was neither fearful nor anxious, for all I could think of was seeing my beloved Margaret again." He turned to the beaming woman, "And now I have. Oh, I have missed you!" He said in ecstasy as he wrapped his arms around the small girl once again.

Mr. Hale smiled at the happiness of the young couple. How long had it been since he had heard his daughter laugh? Laugh like that? Like a young girl all over again? Mr. Hale greatly desired to speak with Frederick once again but he smiled slightly and left the pantry to leave the pair to be reunited once again.

Margaret and Fred did not even notice that Mr. Hale had left and they just relished in the silence, relished in the feeling of their arms entangled around each other, relished in the uneven breaths, relished in the fast beating of their hearts.

"I love you, Margaret," Frederick began and Margaret shivered at the words. He had said such a thing to her before but now to hear it once again, it felt as if it was the first time he had said it.

"I love you too, Fred," she replied in a whisper before laying a kiss to his cheek.

She felt Fred grin, "Is that the best that you can do?"

Margaret did not understand. "What do you mean?" She was saddened when Frederick pulled her away, but lost all regret as he stared into her doe-like eyes.

"I mean that you can surely do better at kissing me, can't you?" Margaret understood and could only nod. Her head felt fuzzy again as she saw Frederick inching closer towards her. He pulled her body closer to his until she was as close as was humanly possible. He cradled her waist in one arm and her neck in the other, brushing back a long lock of her hair. "You are even more beautiful than I remember."

Margaret felt herself blush bright crimson and she leaned slowly towards Frederick's lips. Was she doing it right? What was happening? How was she to know? She was about to have her first kiss at the age of nineteen. Her stomach did a somersault as the thought crossed her mind. A first kiss. _Her _first kiss.

And then their lips met, for the first time, and Margaret's head became clouded with so many different thoughts and emotions. She wondered if Frederick was thinking the same thing. The feeling of his soft lips against hers, and his hot breath on her mouth, mesmerized her. As he drew a part, she felt herself silently cursing. She wanted more...so much more. So many more kisses like that. But that had been her first kiss. And it had been just perfect.

She kissed him one more time, emboldened by the smoldering look he gave her, and then she led him to a wooden chair and he sat upon it and she took the liberty of sitting upon his lap with her fingers laced behind his neck, and her thumbs fiddling with the curls at the nape. It had always been something that they would do back in Helstone and it brought a certain comfort to them.

They talked of much—of their memories, of their love, of their ambiguous plans for the future, of the lives they now lived. But Frederick, though he wanted to apologize for leaving her, felt it was not the right time. And Margaret did not desire to mention her refusal to two men's proposal while he was away. And so, by mutual consent, they talked of small things until the morning sun was about to rise. And then Margaret fell asleep in Frederick's arms, her fingers still in his hair and Frederick laid a quick kiss to her forehead before he wrapped his arm tighter around her waist and fell asleep as well.

_**So he is finally here! Things are about to get very interesting! Review please...**_


	14. Chapter 14: A Picnic Lunch by the River

When had Margaret last felt so happy and care-free? She did not even mind the risk of having Frederick back in England. She did not feel the burden of having to keep him hidden within the house at all times. She just remained in the home with him, desperately desiring to spend as much time with him as she possibly could.

That is why her mouth opened wide but no words were able to come out when Frederick proposed something completely preposterous to her the following morning. He had taken a seat down upon the settee and had gazed at her as she stood looking out of the window. He wished so very much to walk up to her and look upon the cobbled streets below but he knew that nobody could see him, even from a window. That's when he just smiled and said, "Today, would you like to go for a walk with me?"

Margaret had turned around in shock, "Are you mad? Nobody can see me with a young man! Questions will be raised and your secret forfeited!" _What would Mr. Thornton think if he saw me with Fred?_ She shook her head at the thought and focused back on Frederick who grinning widely.

"I have it all planned. We can go out through the pantry door and into the back alley. Now, where does that lead?"

"It is a ten minutes walk, but that alley will lead to the river, and a bridged crossing. That bridge is mostly unoccupied these days, with the mill's progress being so slow, and the water is so muddied that I daren't think anyone would go there."

Frederick smiled, "Then, it is settled."

Margaret began to approach him in protest. She wanted nothing more than to escape the imprisoning confines of the house and breathe some of the fresh air with him, but she did not want to risk the danger! Frederick stood and met her halfway. He grabbed her wrists softly and calmed her protests. "You shall pack a picnic lunch and then we shall be gone. Nobody will see us leave, nor come back. It will be perfectly fine." Margaret was not completely convinced, and Frederick knew that, but she somewhat reluctantly agreed and went to pack the picnic lunch.

XxxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXX

No less that an hour later, they cautiously left the safety of the home and entered the dirty alley. It was so much more smoky than Milton, and it actually made the streets of the dirty town look like paths used by royalty. But what was good about the filthiness was the fact that nobody ever inhabited that part of the alley and so they were able to leave the home and walk the ten minutes easily enough without being spotted by anyone. They soon arrived at the stream Margaret had spoken of. True, it was not a very lovely place, but it was private and secluded from probing eyes. That was all that the two lovers cared about as they walked to the edge of the stream and laid the blanket upon the fading grass. Margaret quickly sat upon the blanket and proceeded to serve the food upon the plates.

It was a simple lunch. Peanut butter sandwiches. But it tasted as if it were a feast to the two of them as they just remained completely captivated by the other.

"Are you just going stare at me the whole time I eat?" Margaret raised an eyebrow.

Frederick chuckled, "Well, forgive me if I have not seen you in two years and I have missed you so very much."

Margaret looked down at her lap as she took another bite of her sandwich. "I missed you too, Fred. Some days I did not think I would be able to cope, the weight on my shoulder was so very much."

"Then you felt the burden too?" Margaret nodded and Frederick sighed, "I am sorry-" Margaret tried to stop him with protests but he continued and she soon quieted, "No, I should have never have left you. I should have stayed behind and married you that spring instead of seeking adventure." He sighed again, "I guess I thought the calling of the sea was more important than you."

"Frederick," Margaret tossed away the crust of her sandwich and approached to sit beside the despairing man, "You were right to go. Both Father and I thought the sea would be the making of you. And, might I add, you did have plenty of adventure."

"More adventure than I had bargained for," Frederick replied bitterly before feeling Margaret's cool hand on his cheek, forcing him to look at her.

"And you are here now and that is all that matters. We have not seen each other in two years, let us not spend this time in sorrow of what is past." She smiled.

Frederick grinned, "Alright, my fair maiden. For starters-" his hand reached up to just behind her ear and he pulled a single hairpin from her tightly secured bun.

"What are you doing?!" She exclaimed.

Frederick removed two more pins and her hair became loose, "When I left, you were still wearing your hair down. And now I find it pinned up like this? It does not suit me." He pulled out several more pins and her hair began to sag down her shoulders.

"Fred," Margaret chided, "I wear my hair up now because it is the proper way for a girl of nineteen."

"Ahh, yes," the man's eyes shone with mirth, "You are nineteen. You were just seventeen when I left, and still nothing has changed except for this blasted hair style." Margaret's eyes laughed as he continued to remove the pins until her hair flowed in thick waves down her back, cascading over her shoulders. Frederick smoothed it out with his large hands and leaned back to appraise his work. "There, that is much better. Worthy of a portrait, I reckon." Margaret blushed at the comment and brushed her hair behind her ear.

She caught his eyes as he looked back at her. She found herself lost in them before she turned away from his gaze hesitantly and stated instead, "So you are indeed twenty-three now? And I might add you have not changed a bit either."

"Really?" Fred chuckled.

Margaret looked at him and squinted as if she was trying to compare each and every feature of him now to the way he had looked two years past. Finally finished, she shook her head. "Not really. Except for you eyes-they look older. Tired."

Frederick gave a weak smile, "That would be from all of the stress." He chuckled.

"Stress or no stress, you are still as handsome as you ever have been."

"And for that remark, Margaret Hale," Frederick grinned, "You deserve a kiss." Frederick leant in and gave her a quick peck upon the lips. Margaret felt her heart leap in her chest. Well, it was only there third kiss. She felt like a silly school girl all over again.

Frederick had scarcely left her side before she had reached out a hand and had grabbed the collar of his shirt. Almost as quickly, she had pulled Frederick in for another hungry kiss. He seemed surprised at first, and somewhat hesitant before he realized that this was his shy, passive Margaret. But their kiss was nothing at all like her. It was passionate as they kissed each other out of need. Need for closeness. Out of desire for one another's love. Breathless, they pulled away and Frederick stared into Margaret's deep brown eyes.

"Margaret," he breathed tantalizingly against her lips, "I love you, and I know you know that. I have not seen you for two years, but my love has only grown the more I have had to wait. I want to marry you, Margaret." Margaret awoke from the sensation of his breath on her lips and sat up straight and stared at him. Was he really saying what she thought? He took her hand and continued, "I have thought it all out. We could have a small service here with your parents and then I could take you back to Spain with me. I am well provided for. I have work and I even have a home. We could start a family." He finished with a smile but when he saw the strange reaction on Margaret's face he frowned. "Margaret?" He asked in worry.

"Oh, Fred," she whispered as the tears began to fall, "I cannot leave with you." Frederick felt his whole world crashing down upon his shoulders. Had she really just said that? "I cannot leave my parents now, not when my mother is so sick, and not when my father is getting older. And they could not accompany us to Spain. My mother would never survive the trip."

Frederick shook his head but he understood deep down. "Very well then-" he replied much colder than he had planned.

Margaret shook her head, "I do love you so very much, Fred, but I cannot abandon my family now. Someday, there will be an 'us'. But it cannot be now."

"Then I will stay here with you." Frederick pulled her closer but she pushed away and looked at him with fear. Her eyes were stern.

"You cannot! I will not allow you to remain in a country that would have you hanged if you were discovered. You will stay here for another week-" She sobbed at this, "But then you must be off."

Frederick pulled her closer and consoled her as she cried hard. They, then returned to the home and their hearts were heavy, heavier than they could have ever imagined to be possible. But then something else happened to make them even more despairing. For Mrs. Hale died that very night.

_**Poor Frederick and Margaret, though I have to admit that every time I write their kisses or loving words, I think I get a little sick. Forever John Thornton! **_

_** Review my darlings, review...**_


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